Tag Archives: music

It’s me, the D.O. double gizzle.

I’m not that good at drinking.

By that, I mean I’m not that good at drinking alcohol. Actually, I’m not that good at drinking anything, but I’m an especially bad boozer. I don’t booze well.

It’s not that I drink too often, or I get too aggressive or too emotional when I do. If anything, I’m not practiced, aggressive, or emotional enough. The real problem is… when I drink… I…

Turn into Snoop Dogg.

Two sips into a glass of Nuvo, and I’m Snoopier than Tha Doggfather himself.

Me last Friday

I start rapping. 

The first night I ever got certifiably crunked, I freestyled for my entire family and my brother-in-law’s family, who I’d never really met before. Fortunately, my sister filmed it and put it on Facebook. Unfortunately, I’m not going to share it here because 1) I don’t know how to download videos off Facebook, and 2) It’s very rather shameful. I will share my best lines, though.

“I found crap on my face. I’m like, am I in outer space? I’m confused. Where’s this dude?”

“You’z a Pokemon. You’z a fool, mon.”

I adopt a limp. 

Upon leaving the bar, I often begin walking with a gangsta lean. I suffer from a bum knee that only ever flares up after a drink or two. It’s a serious ailment, belee dat.

I become obsessed with blunts. 

Not blunts made of the marijuana! What do you think I am, a weed criminal?! I get obsessed with Phillie blunts, a perfectly legal, perfectly awful, cigar.

I became obsessed with Phillie blunts last New Year’s Eve. After getting stuck with a pack of them at a Christmas party Yankee Swap, I thought it’d be a nice gift to bring to my cousin’s New Year’s Eve party.

A few minutes before midnight, and after a few drinks, I decided it was time to get to Phillie blunting. I had no intention of smoking the cigar — I’d barely ever even seen one up close — but I thought it’d be fun to light one. The flame had yet to touch the tip of the cigar before I started dry heaving/convulsing. I thought cigars would taste like Cuban sangwiches or grape leaves or something. I was wrong; they taste like straight lung venom.

They look like hotdogs

Now, I bet you’re thinking, “Snoop is far superior to you! If drinking makes you act like him, then BITCH WHY AIN’T YOU GET SO THROWED EVERYDAY?”

I’ll tell you why I ain’t get so throwed everyday. Even though Snoop Dogg is a much better person than I am, strangers don’t seem to appreciate when I take on the persona of a 41-year-old former Crip.

Cab drivers don’t like when I accuse them of “trippin”.

My peers (other 41-year-old former Crips) don’t like when I introduce myself to them with complicated handshakes.

Bartenders of fancy nightclubs don’t like when I order a gin and juice and then don’t know what kind of juice I want.

And I don’t like the thought of me drinking enough to start acting like this:


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The end of an era

I’ve loved Patrick Stump, the former lead singer of Fall Out Boy, since my sophomore year of high school.

I (kinda) met him and fellow Fall Out Boiii Pete Wentz a few years ago, but I had drool all over my shirt and forgot how to speak, so it didn’t go too well.

Last Saturday, thanks to my jarb, I got to meet Patrick for the second time. I shall illustrate the night with a series of pictures.

This is our first picture together:

This is our second picture together, after I decided my right thumb would look more casual hooked in my Mom-butt-shorts pocket:

This is when I told him “I had the biggest celebrity crush on you in high school.” Note the demeaning shoulder grab/undeniable chemistry (I have no idea why I grabbed his shoulder — my mouth was really dry and I could barely breathe and I was about one fart away from a pantsful o’ crap. Plus, I think I wanted to continue touching him forever):

This is when Patrick responded to my love confession with, “Well… thanks! For… working the show.” It’s also when I laughed uncontrollably because if I didn’t, I was going to start vomiting:

This is when he was all like, “Damn dat bitch scary, I’m outtie”:

This is when, after my friend Amanda persuaded me to wait after the show for another picture (even though I already felt like a super freak), I asked Patrick for a hug… and then to hold my hand:


And finally, this is when I tweeted the hand holding picture to @PatrickStump and said “sorry if I made you uncomfortable — it was worth it for this picture, though” and he responded with A DIRECT MESSAGE!

The night’s events confirmed my love for him even more. Yet, since I know there’s no chance I’ll ever come back from “Will you hold my hand?,” I’m giving him up. But hot damn is he talented, nice, modest, funktastic (musically), and just generally perfect.

He does, however, make me look like a gigantor. He also brings out my painful shyness, making me sound like a babblin baby quicker than I’d like to admit.